“My point is, this is not an insurmountable problem. And we’re actively working on it. We’re in this together, showing people that you’re going to stay here forever because of your amazing girlfriend.”

Olive pointed to herself with a flourish, and his glare followed her hand. Clearly he was not a fan of rationalizing and working through his emotions.

“Or, you could stay mad, and we could go to your lab and throw test tubes full of toxic reagents at each other until the pain of third-degree burns overrides your shitty mood? Sounds like fun, no?”

He looked away and rolled his eyes, but she could see it in the curve of his cheeks that he was amused. Likely against his will. “You are such a smart-ass.”

“Maybe, but I’m not the one who grunted when I asked how your week was.”

“I did not grunt. And you ordered me chamomile tea.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

They were quiet for a few moments as she chewed through the first bite of her Danish. Once she’d swallowed she said, “I’m sorry about your funds.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry about the mood.”

Oh. “It’s okay. You’re famous for that.”

“I am?”

“Yep. It’s kind of your thing.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm.”

His mouth twitched. “Maybe I wanted to spare you.”

Olive smiled, because it was actually a nice thing to say. And he was not a nice person, but he was very kind to her most of the time—if not always. He was almost smiling back, staring down at her in a way that she couldn’t quite interpret but that made her think weird thoughts, until the barista deposited their drinks on the counter. He suddenly looked like he was about to retch.

“Adam? Are you okay?”

He stared at her cup and took a step back. “The smell of that thing.”

Olive inhaled deeply. Heaven. “You hate pumpkin spice latte?”

He wrinkled his nose, moving even farther away. “Gross.”

“How can you hate it? It’s the best thing your country has produced in the past century.”

“Please, stand back. The stench.”

“Hey. If I have to choose between you and pumpkin spice latte, maybe we should rethink our arrangement.”

He eyed her cup like it contained radioactive waste. “Maybe we should.”

He held the door open for her as they exited the coffee shop, taking care not to come too close to her drink. Outside it was starting to drizzle. Students were hastily packing up their laptops and notebooks from the patio tables to head to class or move to the library. Olive had been in love with the rain since as far back as she could remember. She inhaled deeply and filled her lungs with petrichor, stopping with Adam under the canopy. He took a sip of his chamomile tea, and it made her smile.

“Hey,” she said, “I have an idea. Are you going to the fall biosciences picnic?”

He nodded. “I have to. I’m on the biology department’s social-and-networking committee.”

She laughed out loud. “No way.”

“Yep.”

“Did you actually sign up for it?”

“It’s service. I was forced to rotate into the position.”

“Ah. That sounds . . . fun.” She winced sympathetically, almost laughing again at his appalled expression. “Well, I’m going, too. Dr. Aslan makes us all go, says it promotes bonding among lab mates. Do you make your grads go?”

“No. I have other, more productive ways of making my grads miserable.”

She chuckled. He was funny, in that weird, dark way of his. “I bet you do. Well, here’s my idea: we should hang when we’re there. In front of the department chair—since he’s ‘monitoring.’ I’ll bat my eyelashes at you; he’ll see that we’re basically one step away from marriage. Then he’ll make a quick phone call and a truck will drive up and unload your research funds in cash right there in front of—”

“Hey, man!”

A blond man approached Adam. Olive fell silent as Adam turned to smile at him and exchanged a handshake—a close bros handshake. She blinked, wondering if she was seeing things, and took a sip of her latte.

“I thought you’d sleep in,” Adam was saying.

“The time difference screwed me up. I figured I might as well come to campus and get to work. Something to eat, too. You have no food, man.”

“There are apples in the kitchen.”

“Right. No food.”

Olive took a step back, ready to excuse herself, when the blond man turned his attention to her. He looked eerily familiar, even though she was certain she had never met him before.

“And who’s this?” he asked curiously. His eyes were a very piercing blue.

“This is Olive,” Adam said. There was a beat after her name, in which he should have probably specified how he knew Olive. He did not, and she really couldn’t blame him for not wanting to feed their fake-dating crap to someone who was clearly a good friend. She just kept her smile in place and let Adam continue. “Olive, this is my collaborator—”

“Dude.” The man pretended to bristle. “Introduce me as your friend.”

Adam rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Olive, this is my friend and collaborator. Dr. Tom Benton.”

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Five

“Wait a minute.” Dr. Benton tilted his head. His smile was still in place, but his gaze became a little sharper, his focus on Olive less superficial. “Do you happen to be . . .”

Olive froze.

Her mind was never calm, or orderly—more like a garbled mess of thoughts, really. And yet, standing there in front of Tom Benton, the inside of her head went uncharacteristically quiet, and several considerations stacked themselves neatly into place.

The first was that she was comically luckless. The chances that the person she depended on to finish her beloved research project would be acquainted—no, friends with the person she depended on to ensure her beloved Anh’s romantic happiness were laughably low. And yet. Then again, Olive’s special brand of luck was no news, so she moved on to the next consideration.

She needed to admit who she was to Tom Benton. They were scheduled to meet at 3:00 p.m., and pretending not to recognize him now would mean the kiss of death to her plans to infiltrate herself into his lab. Academics had huge egos, after all.

Last consideration: if she phrased this right, she could probably avoid Dr. Benton hearing about the whole fake-dating mess. Adam hadn’t mentioned it, which probably meant that he wasn’t planning to. Olive just needed to follow his lead.

Yes. Excellent plan. She had this in the bag.

Olive smiled, held on to her pumpkin spice latte, and answered, “Yes, I’m Olive Smith, the—”

“Girlfriend I’ve heard so much about?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She swallowed. “Um, actually I—”

“Heard from whom?” Adam asked, frowning.

Dr. Benton shrugged. “Everyone.”

“Everyone,” Adam repeated. He was scowling now. “In Boston?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are people at Harvard talking about my girlfriend?”

“Because you’re you.”

“Because I’m me?” Adam looked perplexed.

“There have been tears. Some hair-pulling. A few broken hearts. Don’t worry, they’ll get over it.”